Marguerite Kaye - His Rags-To-Riches Contessa

‘Regina di Denari...’ she repeated, savouring the sound of it in Italian. ‘I think it’s perfect. So that’s the part I’m to play?’

‘One of them.’

‘One of them!’

He laughed softly. ‘It is a very large fee you are to earn, after all.’

‘Not large enough, I’m beginning to think,’ Becky retorted. ‘How many other roles are there?’

‘Only one, but it will be quite a contrast to the Queen of Coins.’

‘How much of a contrast?’

‘As day is to night. Like Venice herself, you will have two faces to show to the world. You will be two very different women. Do you think you can manage that?’

‘Of course I can.’ She wished he wouldn’t smile at her like that. She wished that his smile didn’t make her insides churn up. She wished that the view from the window wasn’t so strange and beautiful. She couldn’t quite believe that she was here, that here was even real.

‘I can’t quite believe you’re here,’ Luca said, as if he’d read her thoughts. ‘ Are you real, Becky Wickes?’

‘As real as you are. And I admit, I’m not at all certain that you are. Maybe this is a dream and I’ve conjured you up.’

‘I’m the one who has been dreaming, dreaming of vengeance. Now that you are here, I can finally act.’

‘It’s me who has to act,’ Becky said, attempting to bring the conversation back to business, trying to ignore the effect the closeness of Luca’s body was having on hers. ‘You still haven’t told me what my other role is.’

‘You will play my painfully shy and gauche English cousin.’ He reached out to brush her hair back from her forehead. He barely grazed her skin but she shivered, though his fingers weren’t in the least bit cold. ‘You are just arrived in Venice,’ Luca continued. ‘Here to acquire a sprinkling of our city’s sophistication, and to provide my mother with some company from her homeland—my mother is English, you know.’

‘It’s one of the few things I do know.’ Becky’s head was whirling. ‘You want me to play a lady?’

‘A young, beautiful lady, who looks out at the world through those big violet eyes with such charming innocence, who understands none of the intrigue going on around her. Venice is a city full of spies, secret societies, informers. Your arrival will have already been noted, so I must plausibly explain your presence, Cousin Rebecca.’

Was he aware that his hand was still resting on her shoulder? Their toes were almost touching. She could see the bluish hint of growth on his cheeks where he had shaved close to his narrow beard. Was this some sort of audition for the part she was to play? But which part? ‘In England, if I really were your cousin, you would keep your distance. Are things so very different here?’ Their gazes were locked. This was the oddest conversation she’d ever had. Saying one thing. Thinking something else. At least she was, and she was fairly certain he was too. ‘The way you’re looking at me, it’s not at all cousinly, you know.’

He flinched, immediately stepping back. ‘ Mi scusi. You must not think I assume because I pay for you to come here that you must...’

‘I don’t.’ It hadn’t even occurred to her, though perhaps it should have? But even though she’d only just met him, Becky didn’t think that Luca del Pietro was the type of man to take advantage. Not that she’d any intention of allowing him to.

Her head really was whirling. She needed time to think, to try to make sense of all that Luca had told her, and to work out what the many gaps were in his story. She needed time to adjust to her surroundings. She was in a foreign country in a floating palace, for heaven’s sake, with a count who wanted to avenge himself on the man who had killed his father. ‘This whole situation is very strange,’ Becky said.

‘Of course it is, and I have not made a very good job of explaining it. I suspect you would benefit from a rest. I will have you shown to your room.’

‘Thank you.’

‘It will be just the two of us dining tonight. My mother...’ Luca hesitated. ‘I thought it prudent for her to be otherwise engaged. I was not sure, you see, until I met you...’

‘Whether I would pass muster,’ Becky said. ‘Does this mean that I have?’

‘You have, and with flying colours, I am delighted to say, because I don’t know what I’d have done if you had not. I think that we will work very well together. And before you say it, I know that I have not explained what it is I want you to do or even why, not properly, but I will. Tomorrow, I promise. You will stay, won’t you? You will help me?’

He wasn’t pleading, exactly, but he wasn’t at all sure of her answer. He wanted her, Becky Wickes, to help him, the Conte del Pietro. More than that. He needed her. It made her feel good. ‘Of course I will,’ Becky said. ‘I’ve come all this way, haven’t I? You think I’d turn my back on the small fortune you’re going to pay me?’

‘The money means a great deal to you? No, don’t answer that, it’s a stupid question. You would not be here otherwise, would you?’

‘That sort of money, to a woman like me, it’s life-changing,’ Becky said, using The Procurer’s words.

‘I have never met a woman like you, but I’m very glad you are here. I think we are going to make an alliance most formidabile .’

He lifted her hand to his lips. Still holding her gaze, he pressed a kiss to the back of her hand. The rough brush of his beard, the softness of his lips, was like everything else since she’d arrived, an odd, exciting contrast. Her insides were churning, but Becky managed a cool smile. ‘If you’ll excuse me,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to be late for dinner, especially since I’m meeting my cousin for the first time.’

A maid showed Becky to her bedchamber on the next floor of the palazzo . As the double doors were flung open, she was about to say that there must have been some mistake, before remembering just in time that she was supposed to be Luca’s well-born cousin. She supposed the servants had been informed of this, and wondered what on earth they’d make of the shabby wardrobe of clothes she’d brought with her. Lucky for her that she spoke no Italian. It was best not to know.

‘Signorina?’

She followed the maid into the room, abandoning any pretence of being at home amid such grandeur as she gazed around her, almost dancing with delight. The vast bedchamber was painted turquoise blue, the same colour seemingly everywhere, making her feel as if she was underwater. Pale blue silk rugs. Blue hangings at the huge windows. They were drawn shut, but Becky guessed they must look out on to the canal. The view would be spectacular in the morning. For now, the room was lit by another of those massive glittering chandeliers. The bed was a four-poster, and bigger than the room in the rookeries she called home. It was so high, so thick with blankets and luxurious quilts, that she reckoned she’d need a step to climb into it. The bed hangings matched the curtains. She couldn’t resist smoothing her hand over them. Damask, embroidered with silk. Would there be silk sheets? She was willing to wager that there would be. Never mind playing Luca’s cousin, this room was worthy of a princess.

What wasn’t blue was gold—no, gilt, that was the word. Little chairs that looked too dainty to be sat upon. A marble-topped washstand. And a mirror. Catching sight of her reflection brought Becky crashing back to earth. She’d bought her dress in a London street market, second-hand but barely worn, using a chunk of the sum The Procurer had given her to cover her expenses. She’d thought it a good buy, but now even the chambermaid looked better dressed. What must Luca have thought? And what on earth did Luca expect her to change into for dinner, which now she thought about it, was bound to be an ordeal. The opportunities to embarrass herself when it came to etiquette were endless. She owned one evening gown, but it had been bought with the gaming hells of St James’s in mind. Her card sharp’s costume, revealing far more than it concealed, was designed to divert players’ attention from her hands. It was totally inappropriate for dinner with Luca. His demure, innocent English cousin would not own, far less wear, such a provocative garment. Thank the stars she hadn’t packed it.